Saturday, November 28, 2015

Advent I - Waiting

I've decided that during this Advent, I'm going to write to myself, the things that I need to hear in Advent.  In essence, I'll be preaching to myself.  I don't do that very often.  Usually, I try to picture my audience and the context in which they survive; and then I imagine the intersection of the biblical story and where the echoes of it make waves in reality.  That's just a fancy way of wondering how the Word of God comes alive today.

So, here I am in the struggle between writing to myself and recognizing that other people read this, which means I'm back at the intersection of individual context and biblical narrative.  It's the first week of Advent - the preparation for the coming of Christ and I've had a week's worth of Christmas music already playing.  We put up the Christmas tree last weekend while Elsa was still with us (she has since flown to Germany, which I'll get back to in a little bit); we sorted through all the memories which look a lot like ornaments but they turn into stories every year, and in the retelling of the ornaments, we get lost in the adventure of Advent.

The first week is always the most difficult, I think.  And that is not only from my saturation in American culture when the first week is also the Sunday after Thanksgiving Day.  After a gluttonous meal masticated at various speeds of consumption depending on which football game is playing at the time (equally gluttonous, if I'm honest with myself), we fade into opposite poles of wondering whether we should be preparing our shopping lists for the upcoming financial strain approaching, or taking a nap.

The Sunday comes quickly after a day that's supposed to be marked for giving thanks for things that have already arrived, but Advent contrives to make us expectant for that which is yet to come.  Or, in the Christian sense, come again.

It's a strange thing that we celebrate Christmas in this way every year.  We already know that the baby has been born; we know of this baby's growth into adulthood, his inconspicuous death and miraculous resurrection and his considerable influence on the middle east which radiated into the outer spokes of the known world.  We don't hope for something that has already happened.

Yet, here we are, every year, waiting for him to reappear.  It's like Jesus flew off on a plane to the other side of the solar system and we're waiting in the airport for his step through the customs gate, baggage in hand, prepared for hugs from family and friends.  We hold signs like, "Welcome back, Savior!"  Or, "We missed you, Jesus!"  Maybe, "It's about time, God." They are all true feelings in one way or the other, but sometimes I think the day of Christmas actually distracts from the greater picture.  We are so inured to Advent, and the skipping past it to the birthday party, that sometimes I actually think Christians believe that Jesus is going to come back as a baby.  

It's weird when we celebrate Christmas in this way.  It's as if I'm a first time parent, pacing back and forth chewing fingernails and drinking coffee, when my child is already sixteen years old.  That's ridiculous.  None of my daughters are going to be re-birthed every year (which Christine thanks God for every year), so why do we treat Christmas that way? 

That's the beauty of Advent.  It's the genius of waiting.

Elsa just left yesterday and already we are expectantly awaiting her return and subsequent description of all the details of her journey.  Due to twenty-first century technology, we can actually follow the flight of her plane while it coasts over exotic places like India and Dubai.  We can connect with her via applications on my phone and yet the whole time we look very much forward to her physical presence in this place, with us.  At the same time, it does us no good to simply watch the skies for the next six weeks waiting expectantly for her.  That would be silly, right?  In order to endure the time between sightings, we do that which God has called us to do - we live.

Our gospel lesson today, from Luke 21:25-30  There will be signs in the sun, moon and stars.  On the earth, nations will be in anguish and perplexity at the roaring and tossing of the sea.  People will faint from terror, apprehensive of what is coming in the world, for the heavenly bodies will be shaken.  At that time they will see the Son of Man coming in a cloud with power and great glory.  When these things begin to take place, stand up and lift up your heads, because your redemption is drawing near.

Surely, in recent weeks, there is anguish and perplexity in the world.  Some are fainting from terror, and a little section in my heart has that same fear that we should have just kept Elsa close to us, to keep her safe.

But we're meant to live, to keep our feet on the ground (unless we are flying in airplanes), not to have our heads in the stars amidst the signs of the sun, moon and stars.  Yes, we can take a peek at what's happening above us, theologically speaking - way beyond our pay grade.  And, when God decides that the time is right and ripe, Jesus will find a way to appear in the clouds. 

Not the iCloud, by the way.  I'm positive that Jesus will not arrive via the SaviorApp on my phone.  And when the scriptures say, "Stand up and lift your heads," I'm kind of thinking that we're not supposed to be looking down at our phones when that happens.  Redemption is a little bigger than the next funny youtube video.

So we wait.  We prepare for the coming of Christ, not in the form of a baby, or at least I don't think the Son of Man is going to reappear as a screaming infant freshly de-umbilicaled from God.  He will come with power and glory and majesty of the likes we have never seen.  We wait at the gate neither holding signs or waiting for arrival signs but talking to our neighbors who stand shoulder to shoulder with us waiting for the doors to open.  We hear their stories of hope and joy about who is to issue forth from customs.

Imagine if the customs security asked Jesus if he had to declare anything and he responded, (from Mark 1:15 after his baptism) "The time has come.  The kingdom of God has come near.  Repent and believe the good news!"

Imagine the sputtering of the guard as he proclaims, "That's not what I meant.  You know, any plants, fruits or nuts."  Jesus shakes his head. 

"Any dangerous items?" The guard finishes his query.

Jesus smirks.  "You've got no idea."

I can't wait to see that.

Saturday, November 7, 2015

Child Abuse

Last week, Paul Ehrlich, a doctor of biology and ecology, accused Christine and I (and countless others) of child abuse.  The program Q and A, a television show dedicated to discussing sensitive topics by a diverse panel of scientists, entertainers, mathematicians, clergy and the like, invited Paul Ehrlich to be part of a panel which discussed a question regarding whether or not a Muslim school in Sydney was right to refrain from singing the national anthem because in their religious calendar year they are in a period of joylessness.  A time of lament.  As the Australian national anthem opens, "Australians all let us rejoice..."

Ehrlich's body posture signified all the academic arrogance one has seen time and time again with regards to the "Science vs. Religion" question (as if the two have to be diametrically opposed.)  He reclined in his chair, arms crossed, one leg over the other almost rolling his eyes as the question was put forth and as his turn came to answer, the snobbery in his voice oozed.  The questioner asked, "Didn't you sing your own national anthem in school when you were growing up?"  (I think he meant the Pledge of Allegiance which states: I pledge allegiance to the flag of the United States of America and to the Republic for which it stands one nation under God...)

Ehrlich then smirked and said, "Yes, of course, but we didn't have child abuse required in the schools in those days."

Religious instruction.

There it is.  He just implied that by teaching students the value (and values) of faith in a supreme being, we are purposefully and systematically abusing children.

After these outrageous comments were spoken (Ehrlich himself tried to backtrack slightly and say that 'he didn't want to be outrageous' but sometimes when one is on camera one likes to see what kind of reaction one can get) there was a warm smattering of applause from the audience.  They liked what he had to say.  Enough of this old time religion.  Enough of this outdated philosophy of bowing in servanthood to non-sensical, all-powerful being which mysteriously controls the universe.  We want a god like everyone else.  We want a god that does exactly what we want, when we want.  We want a god to be

Us.

Isn't that where our culture and society has evolved?  We no longer need to look outside of ourselves for salvation, or even hope, for that matter?  Doesn't our culture tell us that our own narcissistic ecclesiology need only worship at the altar of the ego?  Instead of speaking of God as the Great I Am, we have simply replaced him ourselves and we intone, I am god.  In the process of replacing the true God of the universe on the throne of our hearts, we have erased the hope of the world, the light of the nations, and the true ability to care for each other, because if, as Ehrlich presumes, there are only 'supernatural monsters' that the religious unintellectuals believe, there is no reason to be anything but hedonistic.

Life is short, do what you want.  Be happy.

It's in this cultural understanding that I think we find a true source of abuse.  When we teach young people that there is no lament, there is no sadness and that our true, and only, advice for life is to try to be happy and then die, we don't give them the tools to deal with the inevitable darkness and desperation that occurs during our breathing years. 

Recently, in an assessment task in our Religion and Ethics class at school, the students were to come up with twelve pieces (or things) that gave their life meaning.  i.e. What makes my life worthwhile?

Of course family and friends were first, but for a few, the majority could not understand why they give life meaning, only that 'they are there for them.'  The rest of the answers included, cars, sports, music and almost always some kind of on-line activity and with it came the 'meaning question' when they responded,

"It gives me an escape from life for a while."

I repeat that in my head each day now, because these students were expressing what I'd been thinking for a while.  Our culture teaches them that it's all about them; be happy; if you don't like something or you think it's boring, change it until it makes you happy; and for goodness sake, if it makes you sad, run like the wind away from it.  Don't deal with it.  Run.

But sooner or later, this kind of cultural child abuse leaves these kids with nowhere else to run.  With no meaning in life other than to be happy, and no tools to deal with sadness or hopelessness, depression and anxiety become almost an inevitable conclusion.  When we don't teach students how to use lament as an expression of one of the mysteries of life, this is the form of abuse we should be talking about.

So Paul Ehrlich may be speaking for the popular culture which popularly replaces God with themselves, and by quoting famous scientist Stephen Hawking, he seems to think it will give his argument greater authority without receiving any of the negative backlash, we find ourselves in a 21st century conundrum.

Who is God here?

I Am.

You can decide which.

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